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Blackblade 12.3 - Barbershop Talk
Ridley led Yomiel up to the room he and Jack had been using. Vol got sent up behind. Ridley entered and gestured around, "So, I'm supposing you need equipment or something, so feel free to set up wherever. I've never made dye, I just buy it, so I can't say I know what the process is." Yomiel, flatly, sat down at the small desk in the room and began to rummage through his bag, taking out various jars and a scale. Ridley emphatically flopped down on the bed, as Vol entered the room. He stood awkwardly near the doorway when the other two didn't react to his entrance. A few minutes passed as Yomiel measured out a white powder. "Umm...you...you're the Cor who gave me a spellbook, in...Verdigris?" Vol offered, breaking the silence. "Technically correct!" Ridley replied, gesturing for emphasis. "Uhh..." Vol faltered. Taking pity, Ridley explained, "It was me, and it was Verdigris." He tilted his head to make eye-contact, "But if you call me Cor again, we really aren't going to get along very well at all," he pouted, "and I can't imagine why you'd want that." "Uhhh..." the younger elf was left at a loss, "But...then, what's..." "Ridley, if you please!" He added as he lay his head back down. "But, that's...that can't even be your given name." He struggled to understand, while Yomiel ignored them both. "Not at all! Not very fond of that name either. Most people can't pronounce it right, and it has far too many syllables for its own good." Vol looked confused, so he continued, "It's called a nickname, most people use them out here. Isn't that right, Yomie?" Yomiel visibly shuddered at the bastardization of his name, but didn't reply. "I think that's a yes," Ridley turned back to Vol from the alchemist. "Not fully fluent in 'mute' yet. Give me a few days, I'll figure it out." "But...isn't that...weird? Strangers being so...familiar?" Vol ventured. Ridley shrugged, "The rest of the world isn't half as uptight as Rio. Word of advice: get used to it fast, because, as I'm sure you've already guessed, your name isn't worth anything to anyone out here. Most people will probably think it's a nickname. Roll with it, because the world is an ugly, dirty, painful, confusing place, where people lack all of the manners you think they should have," he sat up and finished, "But if you figure it out, you might find it fun." Vol considered this, when Yomiel turned around to look at Ridley. He gave a dry look and a few gestures, which Ridley regarded with an exaggerated expression. "Ah ha!" He stood up with a flourish. "Kid, go down to the kitchen, and get a pitcher of water and a pan they don't want to use anymore. Tell them to put it on the Yetoman's tab if they want money." Vol frowned, "Hey, I'm not running errands for a..." Ridley moved across the room in a flash, grabbing Vol's chin and bringing his face close. "If you finish that sentence," he whispered, "You're going to be very unhappy." Vol's eyes were fearful as Ridley continued, "I can give lessons nicely, or I can give them painfully. Whether you want to listen or not is your business, but you will remember one: you are not better than me. You are not better than anyone. And you will act that way. Because people who pretend they're better are not liked. And people who aren't liked, make enemies. And out here, your enemies will do much worse to you than they ever would in Riolythe." He let go and backed a step away, "And you already know what they do to you there." Vol looked down, shaking slightly. With nothing better to do with his hands, he clutched at his wrist. Ridley sighed and rolled his eyes, flipping his bangs back. "Look, I'm not your enemy. You're in a tight spot, with a lot to learn and no time to do it. You don't know anyone, have nowhere to go, and there are people looking for you. I get that, and I know better than anyone else what it's like to come here after living in Riolythe. Things will get better, but you have to decide something. You have to either decide that you want to learn how things work here, and that you want to control your own life, or that you'd rather be comfortable, and let other people tell you what you should do. Because, really, the big difference between here and Riolythe? It's not the clothes, or the meat-eating, or the crappy buildings, or that everyone seems to act like they’re married. The only difference that really matters, is that here you can make your own choices. And you have to decide whether or not you want to make them." Vol stood for a moment, then nodded his head. "Now seriously, we need some water, or we're going to be here all day." Not looking up, Vol nodded his head and left the room. Ridley sing-songed after him, "Take your time!" Ridley strode over to Yomiel. "Now don't think he's the only one getting a pretty little speech." Yomiel didn't respond, but rather kept hunched over the table. With grace that could only have come from practice, Ridley tipped the chair and kicked its leg, spinning it deftly around so that the Lesherved now faced the bed. Shocked at the sudden and uninvited shift, Yomiel gripped the chair and glared at the elf as he sat down on the bed again. "So you're the big, bad murderer," he said with droll. "How old are you, 20? If that?" Yomiel just glared and made to move his chair around, but Ridley stopped him. "Oh no no, you see, we need to straighten some things, and the faster we get it done, the faster I leave you alone, mmkay?" With a dirty look, Yomiel slumped and crossed his arms, but made no further motions. Ridley clapped his hands together, "Good! Now, I have no problem with you per say. But Jackie, he doesn't trust you. Thinks you're going to stab us all in the night, or some such thing. And if Jack has a problem, then it's my problem, see?" Yomiel continued to look away petulantly. "But, what I said to him, was that if you were going to do that, why haven't you stabbed the lot of them already?" Yomiel gave no response. Ridley sighed and drummed his fingers together. "Look at me," the playfulness had fled his voice, leaving it cold. Yomiel tensed, but didn't move. "Look me in the eyes, you scared, little, child." Slowly, with gritted teeth, Yomiel swivelled his head to glare venomously at Ridley. The elf didn't flinch, didn't smile, but stared levelly back. They sat like that for a moment before Ridley asked, "Why do you care about them?" Yomiel's replies were short and bitter, "Don't. You?" Ridley followed in kind, "Don't at all. Only Jack. Why follow?" Their snapped responses became subtly more fevered. "Have to. You?" "Want to. Whose law?" "Family's. Why?" "He's the only one who matters. Why them?" "Brother promoted the Yetoman. Why do you care?" "Need to know you won't kill us." Ridley paused, then asked more slowly, "Why did you kill them?" Yomiel gritted his teeth, unwilling. His gaze faltered; Ridley's did not. "You follow the Yetoman because your family told you to. Did you kill them because your family said?" "No." "But it wasn't wrong, by their eyes, was it? You're debasing yourself, serving that man. You wouldn't shame the family that you're doing this for." "...No." "If it wasn't wrong, then it was right. What about the hospital was wrong?" There was a pause before Yomiel said, barely above a whisper, "...Wretched place." Ridley waited, and he continued, "Dying people should be dead. The sick die, the weak die, and the strong die serving the weak, making more suffering. A shrine to waste life at asking dead gods to take the strife away, so they suffer more for lack of effort. Infuriating, hopeless place." Ridley sat back and considered this. "...huh." He lay back down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling, still thinking. Yomiel straightened himself and went back to the desk. Vol returned shortly, and Yomiel proceeded to prepare the bleach while Ridley explained the finer points of hair dying and disguise to the younger elf. Ridley filled the silence of the afternoon with meaningless chatter, while Yomiel remained detached; Vol, originally trepidatious, became slowly more at ease and threw in a comment or two. After they finished, Ridley shooed Vol towards the door, saying that they "should give the alchemist time to himself to get ready." As he left, Ridley added over his shoulder, "Oh, and you have my deepest sympathies for your brother's decision." Yomiel paused, but made no reply as Ridley closed the door behind him. "Well! Things to do, things to do," he sing-songed towards the stairs. "Hey, uh..." Vol's voice stopped him, and he turned back. "...Thanks, um...Ridley." Ridley gave a half-smile, "Not a problem, kid," and sashayed down the stairs. Category:Banishment of the Blackblades